The Departure of Boromir
by Aralome Finarfin
Summary: Hey, 's another Boromir death story. (There're so fun...) Yah, review and tell me if you like it better then my other one, 'The Fall of Boromir'


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bodyA/N: yep, another Boromir death fic. There're so much fun. Anyway, I think this one is a little better then the last one, but I'm gonna leave them both up because I can.  
  
Disclaimer: yah, like I could ever own them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE DEPARTURE OF BOROMIR  
  
  
  
Block. Thrust. Dodge. Stab. The movements are familiar to me even if the foe is not. These orcs are nothing of the like I have ever seen before. They are huge, the crest of a white hand marks their leering faces.the White Hand of Saruman. They are stronger and faster then their light hating kin. The grating voice of one rings out harshly through the once peaceful forest.  
  
"Find the Halflings!" It is followed by a snarl. The Ring. It is the first thought that flashes through my mind. It is accompanied by a surge of guilt at what I had done. There is nothing I can do now. Orcs come at a great number erasing any thought I might still have. Merry and Pippin charge across my line of sight, pursued by a great number of Saruman's orcs. With a wild yell I give chase, soon engaged in a fight for my.no the Halflings' lives. They do what their limited training that Aragorn I gave them to aid me, but resort to throwing rocks at the hulking monsters. My blade cleaves through their foul flesh easily, leaving them shrieking in agony. I shout at the Hobbits to run, but they stand their ground, and I cannot help but feel a surge of admiration for them, being so small yet seemingly fearless in the face of the Enemy. I raise the Horn to my lips, blowing three blasts, calling for help. The orcs falter, unsure of what is coming. When only more of their kind does, they press in closer, their dark eyes glittering with a reckless hate I have never seen before. I do not know what happened next, but there is a flash of excruciating pain and a black feathered arrow seems to grow from my shoulder. Tendons snap and muscle shreds, my arm hanging lifeless at my side. The Hobbits watch in disbelief, but the orcs still come. With a cry I wheel to face them, my hand slick with their blood as yet another falls victim to my singing blade. I stagger back a step as yet another arrow slams into my body, pain filling my senses. I fall to my knees but somehow regain my feet to continue the fight, unwilling to give in. My strength is failing, my lungs burn.  
  
I cannot give in, to do so means death, and I am not ready to face that yet. My gaze falls to Merry and Pippin who watch in horror, their eyes glittering with unshed tears. My breathing grows ragged as I raise my blade in one more effort to take as many of these monsters down with me as I can. The third arrow drives me to my knees. I look up in time to see the Halflings rush headlong into the arms of the orcs with a cry of anguish. I turn my head and am staring straight down the shaft of an arrow, the orc behind it sneers at me, drawing the arrow taut on the bowstring. I return the stare, unafraid. I hear a wild cry but the last arrow never comes. I thought I saw Aragorn, but cannot be sure for it is now an effort to lift my head and I lean against the trunk of a nearby tree for support. My eyes are beginning to grow heavy. Death is coming; I know, I can feel his icy touch upon my brow. But still my pain clouded mind rebels against the thought of dying. Only now do I truly realize the finality of it. Never again will I see the sun sparkle off the white towers of my home, never again will I hear my fathers voice, never again will I see my brother. Faramir.I close my eyes, sending out a single thought. iI love you, brother./i I blink, the world grows hazy but somehow Aragorn's face comes into focus above me, his eyes shining with grief. Slowly I force words through an increasingly tightening throat.  
  
"I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid." Breath rattles in my lungs as they fill with blood, slowly drowning me. "They have gone: the Halflings: the orcs have taken them. I do not think they are dead. Orcs bound them." Even the tiniest movement now is a great labor. "Farewell Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people. I have failed." I failed him, and now will die with the shame of it. He only clasps my hand and lays a light kiss on my brow.  
  
"No! You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace; Minas Tirith will not fall!". I regret that it is only now, at the end of my Quest, at the end of my life that I see the true strength left in Men. But I only smile. Pain? I feel no pain, not now, not ever again. Death is come, and I embrace it now like a lost lover. The world swims out of focus one last time. The White City will stand, this I know, and we will triumph; the true King is returned. /body /html 


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